‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. Returning in moments, Mr. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Miss Mary to the life. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision.
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