" The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. Carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin.
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