“You don’t waste any time. ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. . . I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. Finally she fell into reflection. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment.
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