A sacrifice. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. He called a waiter. I was compelled to run away. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground.
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