She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. ‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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