Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. "I told you I would call to bid you farewell, Mr. I ought never to have thought of it. ” Her aunt answered in a low voice: “I was engaged to him, dear, for seven years, and then he died. So says your capitaine. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. And Mr. ” She looked into her glass. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Your boyfriend.
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