I have calculated my chances, you perceive. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. "He wouldn't hurt a rabbit. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. "Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune.
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