‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. 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. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. “One moment, if you please!” She stopped short and looked round.
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