Her little white hand stole across the table. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. "Untie his arms, and take off that handkerchief. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs.
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