“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. ” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. He was—a millionaire.
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