It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. ’ She pronounced the name with painstaking accuracy, Gerald noticed. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. “Do you mean in looks?” she asked. ’ ‘You mean the one that you refused to feed?’ demanded Gerald, seizing this promising cue and adopting a mournful note.
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