She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep. But it was only six-thirty. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. ‘Hates doing the pretty. ” She appraised him. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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