Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. Earles regarded it approvingly. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould.
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