" "I'm sorry. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. I cannot live without you, Anna. ‘Help yourself, Hilary.
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