’ ‘Woof!’ Sergeant Trodger’s eyes fairly popped out of his head, and he seized his prisoner’s arm again. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said.
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