‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. I want to be myself. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead.
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