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She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ” Annabel clutched her sister’s hands. Nice, of course. She remembered Taber's hat. Don't worry about me. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. Smith will tell you I'm misinformed, also, on that point. ” She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, preoccupied expression.
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