Sometimes I take innocent lives. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia.
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