Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Of course there are, millions of them. She knew, too, she must not hesitate.
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