"But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. “I’m not going to kill you, John. " "No," thundered Wild. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Well, I don’t think that’s fair.
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