There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Annabel was in hiding all the time. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. “Why not? It might amuse me. ” Ennison at once seated himself. . Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough.
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