“Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. “I am sick of it. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “After all, how easy the descent is, even for the greatest of us. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy.
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