Lonesomeness isn't my worry. It's your eagerness that bothers me. . She felt like a dried-up old woman. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.
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