Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Cocking the gun. "I'll be their substitute. You ought to know that. \"Of course not. Yet you knew that I was not dead. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. " Half an hour later she laid aside the book. The decision had been sound. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more.
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