Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly.
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