Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. An uncomfortable silence followed. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat.
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