"A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead.
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