“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. ‘I have told you I will take Jacques.
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