“Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. “I certainly knew him no better than you. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. His literary instincts were reviving. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London.
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