That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. Anna and her escort exchanged glances.
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