And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. I thought that he was dead. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. "My friend here," said McClintock, "tells me you are looking for a job. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. Leastways, not on your own. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible.
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