It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. A white man takes his life in his hands. Anna comes to London. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. I will be as silent as the grave. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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