Anna’s face however was wholly impassive. She had lost it. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. . ” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. See paragraph 1. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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