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” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. . ’ For a moment Gerald said nothing at all. . "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold.
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