She drew her naked arms around herself. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. God help me. You know I call that positively wicked. Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not.
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