CHAPTER XVIII. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. She would not forgive me. There you are, the best client’s chair. To Breanna for believing in this project at every step. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. She had fallen asleep. I meant to lie to you. " "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. ‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction.
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