It was enough. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. ’ ‘You mean the one that you refused to feed?’ demanded Gerald, seizing this promising cue and adopting a mournful note.
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