A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again.
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