” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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