For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. You do not need me to remind you of your success at Paris. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. Another picture slid across her vision. But what a monster was this Emile.
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