“Dear me!” he said. The room was dark and dusty. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. . That is why I called myself Anna. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. Anyhow, there it is: YOU ARE NOT GOING THERE. " Upon which, with an assurance that he would not do so, the attendant departed.
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