“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. The doctor jumped to his feet. Yet you knew that I was not dead. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in.
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