Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. ” He never helped her by a sound. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. “I will go,” he said.
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