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‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with.
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