That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. "I have sworn to see him hanged," he said, "and nothing shall keep me away— nothing, by——. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried.
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