"Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. She has been a dear. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers.
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