‘Me, I have a name. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. That person advanced towards him. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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