"You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. He seemed to be thinking hard. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house.
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