Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. "I don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined Griffin, with some curiosity. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. When Captain Darrell's birth is ascertained, I've no doubt he'll turn out a nobleman's son.
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