"There he is!" cried Winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. Smiling, the Chinaman gave the correct pronunciation. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. “There’s no one here except me. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ” Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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