Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. He must have married when he was quite a young man. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.
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