“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. It’s not you—not a bit. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. I loved her so much. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ’ She bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh.
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