This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. She would end this sham with Manning. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively.
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