His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were.
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