“Anna,” he cried eagerly. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale.
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