Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. It could not be a legal marriage. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm.
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