He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. Understand me. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade.
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