" "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. ” Anna stood up. You seem altogether altered, too. We’ll go to the shops. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her.
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