"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. It was Annabel’s. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. I was always told my mother died the day I was born.
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