"We went through your belongings. "That young man had better watch his cough," said Spinster Prudence. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. It happened that at the extremest point of Ann Veronica’s social circle from the Widgetts was the family of the Morningside Park horsedealer, a company of extremely dressy and hilarious young women, with one equestrian brother addicted to fancy waistcoats, cigars, and facial spots. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. He was perhaps forty-five years of age.
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