And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. You understand me, Charcoal.
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