No doubt there’s some little mistake. It’s just that I want to say. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found.
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