“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. Ramage back his forty pounds. On your own. " "Irons—heavy irons—night and day.
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