She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. Anna was married. “You are one of the Hampshire Pellissiers, I know, and your family are quite as good as ours.
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