“Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. He was caressing an idea. That is, if Spurlock had been throwing money about, which was more than likely. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. But how could you get—Who gave you credit? “You see,” said Ann Veronica, “my landlady kept on my room while I was in Holloway, and the fees for the College mounted up pretty considerably. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father.
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