The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. ” “I am going to pack my bag,” Anna answered. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering.
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