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Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. Imitating the example of Mr. My name is Annabel, not Anna. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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