At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Here was a thundering blow. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! “I am the prodigal daughter. Hawk and Buzzard. CHAPTER XI. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive.
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