He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. I believe that his recovery was considered almost miraculous. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. ‘Hilary was right. “Let’s go.
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