Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. He was caressing an idea. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks.
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