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It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. “Call me Annabel. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. Don’t try.
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