‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Gay," rejoined Jack. For so far she had kept it uncashed. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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