don’t have time. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. “Hainault, Celeste’s friend. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition.
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