There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. Altogether different. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. dear.
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