” Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. I was curious about that. “Please stay,” she said briefly. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
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