8. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own.
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