"Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil. Your servant, Mr. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. I hated the stuff. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river.
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