“I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. He drew a little breath and stepped back. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor.
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