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"Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently.
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