And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic. “Of course we go to school. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends.
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