“Mr. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. He was heartily thankful for it. But that possibility had been anticipated. “Dear husband,” she murmured. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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