She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically.
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