He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie.
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