I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. 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.
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