The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. It came again. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter.
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