"Let me go," cried Winifred. You DO understand?” “Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him. The period of repression was over. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering.
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