from many ships. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. She has contrived to keep out of my sight up to this time, and I've no doubt she'll keep out of it altogether for the future.
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