Have you anything to tell me before you go?” Annabel laughed lightly. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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