A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside. “An annuity—a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through my solicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. It has.
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