They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. I think not, Annabel. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. I am going to take you entirely at your word. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures.
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