They WERE weird. ’ ‘Did no one know, then?’ ‘No, for the vicomte, we learned later, wrote to General Lord Charvill in pursuit of his sister. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. .
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