I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. ” 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. Somehow to-night—I don’t know.
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