" Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. Good riddance. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. It became suddenly glaringly apparent to her that it was impossible to return fifteen pounds or any sum less than twenty pounds to Ramage—absolutely impossible. He had not had time to aim the pistol.
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