“Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. No one is safe. An unexpected vacancy, wasn’t it? Every one comes in on unexpected vacancy. She did her best to do this. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. I mean Miss Charvill no harm. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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