She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. The risk I run is nothing to yours. So there is no escape. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. Wood heard the cry. Section 2. The McCloskeys had only boys, two that were off in the Service and one that was full grown and had moved down South. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart.
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