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He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. 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. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. Too late now. Now go.

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