The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde. He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. "It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ” “He imposed on me,” Annabel continued. Buck up. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him.
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