Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied.
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