She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. This isn’t the place. Annabel thought, and thought again. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. As to his mother, I've no pity for her.
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