“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be.
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