Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. "Come along, my sly shaver. “It was inevitable,” he declared. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet.
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