Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Above the housetops it was different. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister.
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