The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. “So that’s the way it is. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. They agreed that they must marry at once, this morning, before the doctor could suspect what was toward. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us.
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