If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. ” “So much the better,” Anna declared cheerfully.
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