A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him.
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