“She is marvellously clever,” he said. It generalized everything she put to it. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. . He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face.
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