“The Widgetts,” she said. . ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. As I shall take and hold. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. So the charge was dismissed.
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