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Stop it!” Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. Annabel entered. He drew her away from this thought. I don’t idealize you. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy.
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