He turned the water off and handed her a towel. ” “Oh, it wasn’t that. ” “You talk strangely, Anna,” he said. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. . .
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