“It was,” she admitted. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work.
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