A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. " "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. ” Then a burst of applause.
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