That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. "He will live," answered Ruth. He is Jacques.
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