"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. We've got to get him to care. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. That would be him. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all.
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