At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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