"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. The theme was a masquerade. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. .
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