“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. Loving was better than that.
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