It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. " "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. With this view, he suffered him to pass on. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. CHAPTER VIII.
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