F. Mrs. Spurling: "I blush for you, Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four in the same way, and know what it is. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully.
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