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She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He was consumed with desire. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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