It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
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