She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. “His back was towards me,” Anna said. Like appendicitis. But to choose this of all moments. “I love your sister. " "Ship her back to her father"—sagely. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner.
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