'Well, Winifred, I told you that I feel an interest in precious
stones, and have some knowledge of them. There are certain stones to
which I have the greatest antipathy: diamonds and rubies are the
chief of these.
Now I want you to promise that diamonds and rubies and beryls shall
never touch these fingers, these dear fingers, Winnie, which are
mine, you know; they are mine now,' and I drew the smooth nails
slowly along my lips. 'You are mine now, every bit.'
'Every bit,' said Winifred, but she looked perplexed.
She saw, however, by my face that, for some reason or other, I was
deeply in earnest. She gave the promise. And I knew at least that
those fingers would not be polluted, come what would. As to her going
to London with the spoil, I knew how to prevent that.
But what course of action was I now to take? At this very moment
perhaps Winifred's father was violating my father's tomb, unless
indeed the crime might even yet he prevented. There was one hope,
however. The drunken scoundrel whose daughter was my world I knew to
be a procrastinator in everything.
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