It was Annabel’s. Cathy rushed out from the kitchen, all smiles, with Lucy behind her. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. " "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly.
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