The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. Fifty in advance.
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