"See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. “He’s got good taste, you know. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me.
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