I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. What are those little red circles?" O'Higgins asked, rising and inspecting the map. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley.
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