"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. McClintock liked it. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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