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Anna raised her eyes. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. “A woman wants a proper alliance with a man, a man who is better stuff than herself. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. You are my prisoner, murderer. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. ‘Sapristi. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald.
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