Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson.
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