“And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence.
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