Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. A young man was playing the banjo. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. " "Yes, I will," replied Jack sullenly, "if you beat me in that way. Ennison, if at all,” Anna declared calmly. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. ” “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. ” “It isn’t exactly that,” Anna answered, “but to tell you the truth, I cannot bear to look upon myself as a rank failure. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. As for the patient, his decision was immediate.
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