"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. Her cheeks were aflame. .
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