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So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. ” Lucy said. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing.
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