She put her hand in his to be squeezed. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. Could she hold him and manage the reins? If only Gerald had not gone. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. She looked up quickly.
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