We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. Meet me. That's part of the bargain. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. We’re regarded as inflammable litter that mustn’t be left about.
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