“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. “Come to my rooms and have a drink. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Wood among them?" asked Jack, eagerly.
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