The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. I’ve got imagination. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her.
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