But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. ‘Went to the dogs, did Jarvis, after Mary died.
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