” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. He was human. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence.
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