Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Rank ingratitude, I call it. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room.
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