The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. You’d make a good Devil. I did think it could be done. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies. Just my room. 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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