Then she went up-stairs again, dressed herself carefully for town, put on her most businesslike-looking hat, and with a wave of emotion she found it hard to control, walked down to catch the 3. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. “My God!” he said again. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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