” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. She was alone with a deadly enemy. An enormous poster almost covered one side of the wall—the poster. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow.
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