I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. “He seems like such a nice boy. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters.
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