"On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. " "Then I'll lend a helping hand. ‘Must be still downstairs. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. If the boy was legging it alone….
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