“You doubted me?” She joked. “An annuity—a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through my solicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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