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Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Stay! I'll go myself. And not a worthy tome in sight. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. He pulled down a chair to her left.
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