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. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. ‘But what in the world was she doing at Remenham House?’ ‘Your quickness is astounding, Lucy,’ Gerald told her admiringly.
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