They crossed the Park to the westward, and then turned back and walked round the circle about the Royal Botanical Gardens and then southwardly toward Waterloo. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. I know you’re young but I think I, no, I know that I love you.
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