’ Taking the chair she had indicated with a careless wave of one stiff-fingered hand, Gerald felt hope burgeoning. "One of us has got to die," he panted. Her patience was waning fast. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers.
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