” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence.
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