” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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