She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders.
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