As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. She looked around the apartment for other people.
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