The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. come. You know you do, Annabel. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. The thief-taker's throat
was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and
cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to
his glances. “What made
you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, “that love
makes people happy?”
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