When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. Come and help me pack.
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