Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. Reaction set in and she leapt at him, beating at his chest with her fists. Not MY affair. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. Good night. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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