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“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. I take the life out of men. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. ‘Say it.
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