He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over.
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