There were the burnt papers still in the grate. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. I can vouch for that. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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