He took up his hat and went. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. “I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a pleasant place. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour.
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