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A Lady of Quality Frances Hodgson Burnett

Wherein his Grace of Osmonde's courier arrives from France

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Back to her face had come all the softness which had been lost, the hard lines were gone, the tender curves had returned, her lashes looked as if they were moist. Anne, sitting rigidly and gazing at her, was afraid to speak, knowing that she was not for the time on earth, but that the sound of a voice would bring her back to it, and that 'twas well she should be away as long as she might.

She read the letter, not once, but thrice, dwelling upon every word, 'twas plain; and when she had reached the last one, turning back the pages and beginning again. When she looked up at last, 'twas with an almost wild little smile, for she had indeed for that one moment forgotten.

"Locked in each other's arms," she said--"locked in each other's arms. My Gerald! My Gerald! 'What surely is my own--my own'!"

Anne rose and came to her, laying her hand on her arm. She spoke in a voice low, hushed, and strained.

"Come away, sister," she said, "for a little while--come away."

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A Lady of Quality
Frances Hodgson Burnett

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