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That glove is still preserved. "It's of no use," observed Thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;—"my resolution is taken. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. His literary instincts began to stir.
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