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. ’ Alderley glanced round the bedchamber. It might prove rewarding. She heard him come in; the light burned on. Then I saw Mrs. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room.
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