"You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. I miss her a lot. “I don’t know why. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. To-night we leave for Marseilles.
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