" "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. "'Sdeath! why am I not obeyed?" exclaimed the knight, angrily. "Then, of course, you must know.
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