You called yourself a murderess. " "I've had the hard work to do, at all events," rejoined Jack, "But I won't complain. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Jack's friends were allowed to visit him,; but as he had openly avowed his intention of attempting an escape, their proceedings were narrowly watched. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully.
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