“But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. “It’s—private. ” Anna sat back in her cab, but found it remain stationary. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me.
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