With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation.
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