Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. She still kicked herself for it. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. She could not move.
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