As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. “Is it your maid?” he asked. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you.
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