"Where is he?" asked Jonathan. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. " Not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, Rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper;—to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him.
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