A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is.
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