. . The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road.
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