Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. On examining his pockets, he found about twenty guineas in gold, and some silver. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. “Annabel?” he exclaimed.
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