All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. Clientèle was of the most transitory character.
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