But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. Annabel thought, and thought again. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room.
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