” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. He turned his back on that temptation. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff.
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