Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side.
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