That old world that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it. "I don't know. “You were married to him!” “It could not be legal,” Annabel moaned. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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