"What is it?" "The night," she answered. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. ” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London.
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