“She appears to be very popular here,” she remarked. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. "Is it poison?" she asked. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. This done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. His assistance came too late.
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