“Eight, Cavendish Square. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. It was a letter. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. ” “We won’t go to any of these City places. Not I. Will you be a faithful and honest wife? Will you do your duty by him, and forget all your past follies? Unless, Annabel, you can——” “Oh, I will pledge you my word,” Annabel cried passionately, “my solemn word. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. Certainly your major—’ ‘Ah, now that’s just it, missie.
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