The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. , like to forget all about it—even their names. I just wanted a breath of air. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching.
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