"Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Perhaps in two or three weeks. ’ Thus adjured, but mindful of Trodger’s orders, the militiaman went down the hall backwards, his eyes fixed on the prisoner.
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