"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. More importantly, she had her wits. ‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. It was Annabel who spoke. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Lose not a moment, Hobson.
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