CHAPTER XXX. Herein was the sum of human knowledge in essence. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. It’s all right. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. ” “Thank you.
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