“There is my aunt,” she said. " "You did not hear her when she spoke to her father; I did. “We don’t pretend. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. “You’re wanted for questioning, miss. Only I do not care to write about anything else. That's a queer yarn. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight.
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