She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Only in the sunshine; they would not answer my whistle on cloudy days. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. We’ll leave him here, with a couple of others. . . . . This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. ” “Thank you very much,” Anna said.
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