She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers.
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