“Is this hansom for me?” she said. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. The unequal battle went on. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. ” Annabel rose to her feet. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation.
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