“DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. “I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart.
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