“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Also he is ugly. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. It’s no half reform either. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander.
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