"And now, shall we proceed to Queenhithe?" "Stay!" cried the other, taking a chair, "a word with you, Mr. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. A rock gave way to deep water. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard.
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