Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Forgive me. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths.
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