’ There was a silence. Died short, I suppose, and the girls had to shift for themselves. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. So he resolved to try another tack. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street.
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