Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. “I really had not thought about it at all,” Anna answered smiling. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past.
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