"Rachel," said Mr. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. There were so many things about her which he could not understand. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters.
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