And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. Her mind developed into savage wrath at the present conditions of a woman’s life. "The plot's out!" cried Jack. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Do not underestimate my power. “Round midnight, I think.
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