"It is too late. It was a letter. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. ’ Melusine sobered, sitting down again. The doctor and Anna were left alone.
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