She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen.
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