You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman.
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