" But Thames had no intention of following his friend's advice. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. In lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. “But your hair,” he gasped. Annabel entered. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head.
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