“Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. He was a stranger. For a few minutes all was silent. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying.
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