“I think she would,” she decided. “But Julian, we don’t even know each other!” She exclaimed. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. It was Annabel’s. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use.
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