“I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. “I am the most foolish of men. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. Sir Rowland then fell. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her.
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