There are way-stations—even terminals. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. But a woman’s life is all chance. “I lied, as I would have committed a murder, or done any evil deed sooner than lose you.
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