‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. “Annabel;” he moaned.
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