To die intestate was unforgiveably irresponsible. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. No mercenary consideration influences me.
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