"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy.
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