“The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind.
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