“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. Now, she was the very reverse of all this. ” He replied solemnly, looking straight into her eyes. But they were too late.
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