” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. “Both!” said Ann Veronica. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. “Feel better. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. The young man had knocked over the siphon. "Give me your thorough-paced villain.
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