’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. "I read those stories. ” Lucy said, frowning. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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