CHAPTER XIX. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. "Not in the least," returned Kneebone, slyly, "not in the least. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being.
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