"After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. . She answered him almost coldly. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. He was caked with dried muck. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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