He had not proceeded far when he encountered Sir Rowland, who, having missed his attendant, had returned to look after him. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. Give me the chisel, Blueskin.
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