” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. It’s gone. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds.
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