“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. “You poor little girl!” he cried. Best assured of that. It isn’t. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. The first peg was torture. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. She flew up from her stool and faced the door.
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