It was her past now, not Annabel’s. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. . Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death.
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