Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. Before Marthe will become impatient and come out. But probably not the truth. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. But you must get him into the chair as fast as you can, and hurry off to Newgate.
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