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He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. “One hardly knows—all the time. ” Her breath left her for a moment.
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