‘It is all the fault of that lantern. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. Then came the great day. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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