“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet.
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