Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. ” She said. She took up a book and threw it down again. ” Anna was speechless, but she had presence of mind enough to sit still until she had recovered herself. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background.
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