’ The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. . ‘I should never have told you. ” “Annabel, are you mad? To England! You are joking, of course. It has become a part of the order of my life. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She had found him! Excitement welled. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want.
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