It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. My arm's nearly well again. “I’d never have a day of peace again, John. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery.
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