How dreary it all looks. Oh, you cannot escape from it. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. "Won't you be persuaded, Joan?" he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. “I do,” Anna answered. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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