Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance. . I would that you were my own. It was no easy matter to determine her age, for, though she still retained a certain youthfulness of appearance, she had many marks in her countenance, usually indicating the decline of life, but which in her case were, no doubt, the result of constant and severe indisposition.
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