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The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. ” “You mean to say,” Anna said slowly, “that you are going to leave your husband?” “Yes. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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