“It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. By various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached Gray's-Inn-lane. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. CHAPTER X.
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