“Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. The four tourists contributed varied sums: the spinsters ten cents each, the girl a shilling, the young man a Mexican dollar. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. You're a queer lad. Get the pole out of your ass. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary. I should like to have had you forgive me. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again.
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