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" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “Guineas, of course,” Mr. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom.
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