“A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. It’s artificially chance. ” Anna shook her head. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. With your permission, I will go on in my own way. I couldn’t sit down for a week!” “Oh, how terrible for you.
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