She recoiled. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. I must obey. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune.
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