She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. I was engaged to dine with your sister and her husband, and I sent a wire. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. I asked him—to take me away. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. You care for me a little, I know. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation.
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