He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. And this clear-visioned child had comprehended that only half the rogues were really ill.
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