If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears.
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