My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. Don't ask any more questions. It is not for myself I fear.
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