“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. I hated the stuff. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman.
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