She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. She held out her hand frankly. I don’t idealize you. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another.
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