Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. She had a gold watch, a very good gold watch that had been her mother’s, a pearl necklace that was also pretty good, some unpretending rings, some silver bangles and a few other such inferior trinkets, three pounds thirteen shillings unspent of her dress and book allowance and a few good salable books.
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