Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Non. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said.
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