” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. . You can think all round me. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable.
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