No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. She could not move. They went first to a hotel, and then out again on to the boulevards. Stonily he had disengaged himself. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. 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. Whoever this might be, the visit seemed to have some reference to the carpenter, for, shortly afterwards, Sharples made his appearance, and informed the captives they were free. She twisted her fingers tightly.
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