Yet she never once thought of changing it. Your disobedience be upon your own head. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. But you are Annabel. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. He is in the secret passage. He's coming. This is something above all rules. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. He laughed reassuringly.
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