Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. A fever of shame ran through her being. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them.
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