Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. "At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. He must never refuse her anything which was within his power to grant—anything (he modified) which did not lead to his motives.
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