"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. Then he remembered that she was Anna’s sister. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness.
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