‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre.
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