One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. E. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. Her mind went on generalizing. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. The burden of decision had been transferred. Not a word passed between them.
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