" "This way, sir. "Off with him to Newgate!" cried Jonathan. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. "Come along, my sly shaver. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Mama will be expecting me. But this made the chase all the more exciting.
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