’ ‘Don’t you believe it. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ” Annabel gave a little gasp. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. ‘Odd sort of a nun. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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