The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs. "Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? If you hadn't been so unlucky, I should have been with you before to-morrow night. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. I killed him, Nigel. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us.
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