Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. "The lash cuts to the bone. Nor my grandfathers both. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him.
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