The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper.
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