She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. Anna made things for her. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. She began to weep in long, aching sobs.
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