” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. She was consumed by misery and hate.
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