And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. Anna hailed a bus. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. No man knew whence she had come nor why. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. I want him as my friend.
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