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F. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. She had never let off a pistol in her life. I love him as a brother.
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