“You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. 1. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. .
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