\"Where are you going?\" She cried. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. He would never recognize me now. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily.
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