Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. ’ He made a pretence of rising and making a sortie to the corner to see if anyone was there.
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