Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything.
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