Thames did not try to cheer her. ” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Great stone staircases leading no one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent; and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended effect. It was her past now, not Annabel’s.
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