CHAPTER VIII. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. He turned, expecting to see his wife. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. He stabbed into her with brute force. " "Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it.
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