Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. "Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. ’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. He is in the secret passage.
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