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She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. ” She said. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. With Bess's assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak.
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