" "I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister. Never was there another girl like this one. It was 1582. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this.
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