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She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. “Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee —and, above all, no Mr. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him.
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