“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Wood, contemptuously. Simply. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room.
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