Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. ’ Joan sniffed. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. She despises me, I suppose. He glanced up at the coachman. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. How much Mary knew is a mystery.
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