“Forty guineas a week. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. She felt sickeningly empty. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown.
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