They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. The villagers were thronging to church. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife.
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