And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. . “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. I am a murderer. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance.
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