As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. You mustn’t do things like that. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. While there's life there's hope.
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