Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. “I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. I have—run away. ‘Hollow.
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