"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. " There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted.
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