‘But I was not there. My nerves were in rags. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. " "Ay, and there's my liver. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack Sheppard at liberty, Sir Rowland. But nothing followed to indicate that the liquid had stimulated the heart. Listen to me, Winifred. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. CHAPTER XIV.
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