"What crime?"
"The crime I'm wanted for; all your schemes are criminal, you know."
"Well, you're complimentary. It's not a crime this time; it's only a
confession."
"Ah! What am I to confess--bigamy?"
"The idea! No. You are to confess--in a distant part of England, what you
can deny in London next day--that on a certain day you married a
gentleman called Walter Clifford."
"I'll say that on the eleventh day of June, 1868, I married a gentleman
who was called Walter Clifford."
This was Lucy's reply, and given very doggedly.
"Bravo! and will you stand to it if the real Walter Clifford says it
is a lie?"
Lucy reflected. "No, I will not."
"Well, well, we shall have time to talk about that: when can you start?"
"Give me three days."
"All right."
"You won't keep me there long after I have done this wicked thing?"
"No, no. I will send you home with flying colors, and you shall have your
share of the plunder."
"I'd rather go into service again and work my fingers to the bone."
"Since you have such a contempt for money, perhaps you'll stand
fifty pounds?"
"I have no money with me, but I'll ask Mr.
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