"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. His glasses were gone. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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