She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. "No more, please! I am bewildered enough. ” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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