” “A—what?” Anna asked. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination.
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