Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. .
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