‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. Collins, you can go now.
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