ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. “You’re. ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. “I’m not a good woman. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away.
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