"At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. Sepulchre's. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage.
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