The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated.
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