"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. Hill lost a little of his truculency. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. ” The conversation hung for a moment. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. “Shopman. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly.
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