“Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. "I don't know. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed.
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