She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. Ray did not pace, he just stood. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. " "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly.
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