’ ‘I have no game. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies.
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