"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. I want to leave Paris to-day. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Treat me as an elder brother, if you like. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner.
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