“It was perhaps my fault. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. From the slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement, he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. All her life Martha had been there. She had never thought of him at all in that way before.
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