“It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time. "Much that I would willingly forget. As to his mother, I've no pity for her.
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