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” “You have not told me yet,” Annabel said, “how it is that you have dared to personate me. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand.
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