CHAPTER XX. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. Wood scarcely knew where he was. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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