"One of us has got to die," he panted. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. Then she took her sister’s hand. He sent me home.
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