‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Don’t take my word for it though. “A move of any sort would certainly be fatal. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. The soi-disant Valade escapes and takes my proof, which I have broken on his head. Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. Then to the Dean's Head, in St. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely.
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