There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. “Take off your tunic. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. She made me over. “I shall never be able to thank you. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children.
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