She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown.
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