Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
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