"Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Anna was suddenly very quiet.
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