On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “To-night we are as we have always been. A deadlock. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. Spurling, who wished to protract the discovery of the escape as long as possible. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Tears began to stream from her cheeks.
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