” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband. ’ Roding allowed that he had a point, and followed him as he began to mount the stairs. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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