"That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. I know exactly what I am doing. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. 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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