But it’s very beastly. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. " Almost the identical words of the boy.
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