Her blood spurted into his mouth and he drank. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. ” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. “I wish you would not do it. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it.
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