“A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. Anna watched her with curious eyes. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. That bruise will answer the same purpose. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. The next few hours will tell. Don't lay it all to the boy.
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