I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. “That is your sister’s name. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. A world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and strawricks flanked the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. In spite of his shrieks, the miserable Jew was then dragged into the wellhole, and the rope being tied round his neck, he was launched from the bridge. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. “But your sister,” he said. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. .
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