We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. I don’t love you. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up.
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