For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. Besides, I thought you despised killing women. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Hold your hand for a moment. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals.
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