Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. "No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. I don’t classify. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat.
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