"My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. Even if you didn’t know it. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance.
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