One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ” Anna’s eyes were a little dim as she poured out her coffee, and the laugh she attempted was not altogether a success. I understand. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff.
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