After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. I have done n-nothing. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary.
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