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“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. “That is your sister’s name.
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