Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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