" "My confessor!" ejaculated the knight, in the extremity of surprise; "has he betrayed his sacred trust?" "He has," replied the other, grinning; "and this will be a caution to you in future, how you confide a secret of consequence to a priest. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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