‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Michelle had begged her to do it. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. An unwelcome idea came to him. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware.
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