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” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. The floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. The doctor jumped to his feet. B. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. ‘Come, cry a truce.
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