They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. Anna was more difficult. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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