Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. I understand. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. . . “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. Be kind to her. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by.
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