"It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning.
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