“Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. The father was a madman. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. But on this matter my mind is quite made up. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. End of Project Gutenberg's Anna the Adventuress, by E.
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