Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. I'll see.
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