‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Giles's. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh.
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