I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. And it is not at all his affair. Pray, walk in. Jack tried it, and found it locked. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion.
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