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The door closed softly upon her. He may not know you’re in England, but if he has the smallest knowledge of your character, he must surely be expecting you. ‘Jacques?’ she called. ” “You will shake hands with me, please,” she begged. "You can do so. He could not make good his hold. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. “Even if he lives here you may go all your life and never come face to face with him again. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. "I strangled him—ha! ha! ha!—strangled him while he was at my breast—ha! ha!"—And then with a sudden and fearful change of look, she added, "That's what has driven me mad, I killed my child to save him from the gallows—oh! oh! One man hanged in a family is enough. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered.
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