His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair.
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