‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. But his lips were honourlocked. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. It was his turn to express astonishment. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely.
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