“Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. And you have stolen my dagger.
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