” She had spoken rather rapidly. He bullied frankly. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. Anna was more difficult. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. ” The doctor glanced towards Anna. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused.
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