"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. He had certain orders from which on no account was he to deviate.
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