“I wonder if there are any good women really. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. Tell me what you think the island is like. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. But there was a face pressed to the glass. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in.
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