The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. ” “There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly. ‘I am perfectly devoted to him, as well he knows. There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. . . He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again.
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