“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. ” “Poor old ring!” said Ann Veronica. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She was given a glimpse of his soul. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. His two wives have been here. Now keep still. Tell me I haven’t heard. .
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