The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. "Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow.
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