Vorsack echoed him. “You love some one else?” he repeated. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. He would have to make sure of her silence. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related.
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