He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. Everything was going to hell. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. His face was white. He stood away from her. He removed his cocked hat and came towards her. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. This she put into the trunk.
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