“Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. “No, stay, Lucy. In this way, they reached Holborn Bridge. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly.
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