All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. Give me but leave to try. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off.
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