"I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. But come in, dear. Montressor’s guests. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. I’m damaged goods. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly.
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