‘I know you, Gerald. You have been to see your sister, of course. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. That is why I called myself Anna. Montague Hill is. But a girl is soiled not only by evil but by the proximity of evil, and a reputation for rashness may do her as serious an injury as really reprehensible conduct.
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