" "Perhaps he is from Lord Derwentwater, or Mr. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime.
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