“He is very kind, Anna, really, and not half such a prig as he seems. Burn your palette and your easel. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. We are nuns. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart.
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