Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. She did not realize that she was offering criticisms. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. He's got the gift of the gab. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance.
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