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" "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. " "Oh! goodness!" ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm. ’ The things she said and did from you—seem impossible. Let me engage myself. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. " "Death and hell!" cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing his sword; "do you think you can shackle my free will, villain?" "In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, calmly, "because you are wholly in my power. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. You are a detective?" "Yes. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. Let me bind you up, and then you can attend to her.
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