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” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. Let us search it. Only the next of kin.
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