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6. “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. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. She was rash and ignorant, absolutely inexperienced. We’ll go to the shops. Nothing has been touched since. You might be able to use the picture some day.
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