“It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. ” Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on the doorstep. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream.
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