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"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. " Silence. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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