"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards.
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