“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. ’ Before the major could verify this, the lady reappeared. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks.
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