In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. “They have all been trying to turn my head. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. ‘Did it indeed?’ ‘I should think he’s guessed, don’t you?’ ‘Without any doubt at all. I told him I would bring him to the gallows, and I was as good as my word. Besides, those things are deadly. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Please to release me. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. ’ ‘I will not.
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