From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. Their conversation became stilted. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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