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But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. They were horrible people. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Plots were hatched in the provinces, where many of the old and wealthy Catholic families resided, whose zeal for the martyr of their religion (as the Chevalier was esteemed), sharpened by the persecutions they themselves endured, rendered them hearty and efficient allies. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding.
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