From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. " "Depend upon it, Sir. It was Annabel who spoke. Beauty has bloomed and faded. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. . Not a word passed between them. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face.
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