‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. “I’m not a good woman. This man has an evil reputation.
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