But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. He smiled complacently. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. ’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. She was poor. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl.
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