Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. Get out your pad and pencil. 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.
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