“Hold on. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things.
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