Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. It was Celeste’s idea. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. But one must disguise oneself.
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