The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. Pilgrim's Progress, The Life of Martin Luther and Alice in Wonderland (the only fairy-story she had been permitted to read) were the sum total of her library. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. His appetite was perfectly Gargantuan. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. "I hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried Mrs. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. "Mr.
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