The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. " "As you please, Sir," replied the tapstress, coolly.
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