They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. This left Spurlock alone. You are the woman I love, Anna. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. “Thank you—and good-bye. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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