The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. She was the first to recover herself. ‘Poor Mary had no idea about the elopement Nicholas had undertaken,’ she told Gerald. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. The major hailed him with a show of relief.
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