Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful.
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