‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. That was the only sound he heard.
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