A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. " "Fooled or not," returned Mrs. CHAPTER XX. She spoke slowly. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself.
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