I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. “Shut up, you little faggot. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. “Enter Sir John, very honest, very much in love with me. I won't keep you long. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road.
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