” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman.
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