“More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. “Anna!” she repeated. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. And would you mind hurrying a little. “Very likely.
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