Listen, you. It was horrible, but she must do it. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters.
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