His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. Do not be a fool, Jacques.
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