The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. And let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. She could have kissed Cathy.
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