“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. General Lord Charvill disinherited him for his pains. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. Her confession was still unmade.
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