They were the same. . Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred.
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