Cathy rushed out from the kitchen, all smiles, with Lucy behind her. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes.
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