Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. A sense of loss was amongst us. Sometimes they marry well. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. I never have known you. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration.
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