"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. Pull yourself together now. It will do its best to overlook things—” “If we let it, poor dear. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. While you talked I was only making our plans. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands.
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