So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. A lesson learned. ” “Don’t worry yourself. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. ” “I still——” Anna stopped short. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. Her parents have more money than God. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. ” She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector.
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