Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. There was a case, or something, some years ago.
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