Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter. The elements were wrathful as their passions. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded.
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