Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. "If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on—a reason why for this madness. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames.
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