“What can you do?” she asked. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. 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 plank hung over his head. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him.
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