Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. Lord, I am sixty. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. Even though I knew you’d no one else to care. CHAPTER XXIII. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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