Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. “You will not object,” he said, glancing towards her, “to accepting a deposit. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his.
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