Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance. Supper was over. ‘Don’t be silly. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. Stanley, and paused. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?” “Anna, I swear it!” her sister sobbed. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair.
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