“Annabel?” he exclaimed. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. ‘I should never have told you. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. He turned, and beheld Winifred. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. . Abruptly, Gerald turned. . ” She was silent. For I still love her mother.
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