” He thought. " "Six weeks!" exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. Fathers are abandoning their own children at the first sign of fever or buboes, Gianfrancesco! Priests have abandoned their churches. “It is Rhea’s infant. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his.
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