Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. The fever came.
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