Anna was singing as she used to sing. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit.
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