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“I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. She turned her head to each side. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. “To tell you the truth though, I am quite a stranger in London, and it occurred to me that Mr. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. This is altogether insupportable.
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