’ Exasperated, Gerald glared at her. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. I'll take them back with me. “What did it matter?” she cried. I must practise what I preach. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. ” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road. F. 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. She could not say who, not yet.
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