” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added.
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