She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. 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. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.
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