Believe me, Anna. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. When he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out. ’ Authority had won again, Gerald thought with satisfaction. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. "It's the ordinary's signature, undoubtedly," replied Jack. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before.
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