CHAPTER XXIII. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as from physical exertion. ” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. ” “He was probably right,” she declared. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed.
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