“After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. " CHAPTER V.
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