He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. He reached over and took her hand.
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