She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. ” She controlled a sob. ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly. The Pursuit 425 XXV. Blueskin, who had evaded me with the papers and the money, is a prisoner here, and will perish on the same gallows as yourself. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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