Part 3 She dismissed the first hotels she passed, she scarcely knew why, mainly perhaps from the mere dread of entering them, and crossed Waterloo Bridge at a leisurely pace. —'Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says I. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse.
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