” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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