‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. "Where?" she cried. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.
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