‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. She had never let off a pistol in her life. “If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Wild on his guard against an assassin.
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