"Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not. "Stop!" groaned Blueskin. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight. In a fit of despondency, superinduced by drunkenness, he made away with himself; and when the body was discovered, after a lapse of some months, such was the impression produced by the spectacle —such the alarm occasioned by the crazy state of the building, and, above all, by the terror inspired by strange and unearthly noises heard during the night, which were, of course, attributed to the spirit of the suicide, that the place speedily enjoyed the reputation of being haunted, and was, consequently, entirely abandoned.
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