I want you to be my wife. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity.
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