This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. ‘But a spy I am not. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. I must provide for my safety. Blue Ruin will do the job nicely. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it.
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