’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. The chair was torture. There it was—to be borrowed. For freedom at least. ‘Can’t see a thing. "My name will only be remembered as that of a robber," he mused; "but it shall be remembered as that of a bold one: and this night's achievement, if it does nothing else, shall prevent me from being classed with the common herd of depredators. The Master of the Mint. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. "You mistake,—you are mine. Gerald sighed. She felt his crotch through his jeans.
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