“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. " "Mine is Howard Spurlock. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know.
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