Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. That knot also would be cut. He has no imagination, no real generosity. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. It goes to my heart to disappoint you, but this thing must not be. A nurse came hurrying up.
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