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She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. “Okay. To-morrow I am going to Paris. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. Silence! Then Anna clutched her companion’s arm. She described it so vividly. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. What they do with him afterward is off my ticket, no concern of James Boyle; they can lock him up or let him go. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour.
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