“Thank God,” he exclaimed. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. She replied softly. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. ‘I may have been only a secretary, but times are changing. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. She despises me, I suppose.
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