She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. "I'm sorry for old Newgate that another jail should have it. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. .
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