“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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