"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. “Nothing. She shot a sudden glance at him. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. " "You are mocking me, Rowland.
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