The Slave of the Lamp by Henry Seton Merriman
page 79 of 314 (25%)
page 79 of 314 (25%)
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lingered there long. It was not built upon smiling lines at all.
Then he took up his letters. There were only two of them: one bearing the postmark of a small town in Morbihan, the other hailing from England. He replaced the first in his pocket unread; the second he opened. It was written in French. "There are difficulties," it said. "Can you come to me? Cross from Cherbourg to Southampton--train from thence to this place, and ask for Signor Bruno, an Italian refugee, living at the house of Mrs. Potter, a _ci-devant_ laundress." The Citizen Morot rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the back of his hand, making a sharp, grating sound. "That old man," he said, "is getting past his work. He is losing nerve; and nerve is a thing that we cannot afford to lose." Then he turned to the letter again. "Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly; "St. Mary Western. He is there--how very strange. What a singular coincidence!" He fell into a reverie with the letter before him. "Carew is dead--but still I can manage it. Perhaps it is just as well that he is dead. I was always afraid of Carew." |
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