Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. Wood; "that's the surest way!" "No! no! give it me!" vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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