It was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. Well, I am Nigel Ennison’s sister!” “Oh!” Anna said. “Go on!” she commanded. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another.
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