“I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. “I did not,” Anna answered. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. I know all about it. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper.
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