“Like a stab. “It’s very late. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run.
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