"Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Prison was beastly. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs. With this she now entered. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside.
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