" "You are heiress to the Trenchard property," rejoined Jonathan, "one of the largest estates in Lancashire. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. “Well——” She stopped short. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. ‘Odds were against it. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. " "They know what?" "When and when not to speak. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion.
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