Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. ‘Never would he have gone to England. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. "Do you take me for a thiefcatcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly.
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