The Dawn Pearl. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. In this part of the world it is wise never to be separated from your luggage. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. You seemed complete—without that. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out.
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