“You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. “I may as well come up by this train. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures.
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