I asked him to take me away, and hide me. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Then, naturally, I went on talking.
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