C. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. “The other too if it is within my power. But none ever puts his foot on this boat. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. Hope reared.
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