“Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened.
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