Chapter VII MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS “Anna!” Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. I am a murderer. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her.
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