" "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit. His food lay untouched about his plate. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Her pulses began to race. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major.
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