Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. The appearance of the new-comer was extremely prepossessing; and, after his trepidation had a little subsided, Wood began to regard him with some degree of interest. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair.
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