Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. His tone was rough, almost threatening. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared.
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