“You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. "So long as it is open and above board.
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