It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. “Always planning for death. Nuns, I mean. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. She opened and read it at once. "I see," rejoined Hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in the hands of the picture. She held out her arms to him and smiled.
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