Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. “They wanted me to identify some one whom I had certainly never seen before in my life, and to tell you the truth, they were positively rude to me because I could not. ” “It seems so—so unworthy”—she picked among her phrases “of the noble love you give—” She stopped, through the difficulty she found in expressing herself.
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