A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. You have told me that you cared.
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