" Spurlock lowered his voice. ” Annabel laughed gaily. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. . ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. He was mad.
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