Anne Hereford: A Novel
By Mrs. Henry Wood
14 Jan, 2020
An express train was dashing along a line of rails in the heart of England. On one of the first-class carriages there had been a board, bearing the intimation 'For Ladies Only,' but the guard took it off when the train first started. It had come many
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An express train was dashing along a line of rails in the heart of England. On one of the first-class carriages there had been a board, bearing the intimation 'For Ladies Only,' but the guard took it off when the train first started. It had come many miles since. Seated inside, the only passenger in that compartment, was a little girl in deep mourning. All was black about her save the white frills of her drawers, which peeped below her short, black, flounced frock. A thoughtful, gentle child, with a smooth, pale forehead, earnest eyes, and long, dark eyelashes that swept her cheek. It was a gloomy September day, foggy, and threatening rain--a sad-looking day; and the child's face seemed to have borrowed the aspect of the weather, pervaded, as it was, by a tinge of sadness. That little girl was myself, Anne Hereford. The train slackened speed, and glided into an important station, larger than any we had passed. Less