Of course, at home there would have been questions. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. CHAPTER XXXI.
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