“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. He held in his hands many threads. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. "I do," replied Kneebone. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them.
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