"The danger's past," whispered Bess. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. Don't unman him. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. His sister followed. 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.
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