She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. “May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt.
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