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. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “There’s the whole situation. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom.
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