His evenings were his own; and he pored over a ragged translation of THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. Little wells of tea lay here and there on the board, and a knife with a broken ivory handle was stuck through the pith of a ravaged turnover. Young as she was, I was struck, throughout our little tour, with her confidence and courage with the way, in empty chambers and dull corridors, on crooked staircases that made me pause and even on the summit of an old machicolated square tower that made me dizzy, her morning music, her disposition to tell me so many more things than she asked, rang out and led me on. He arrives, as you did, by the coach, under care of the guard, and is to be met by the same carriage.
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