” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter. "We'll do it. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room.
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