" "Never!" rejoined Kneebone, with increased ardour,—"never, till I receive from your own lips the answer which is to make me the happiest or the most miserable of mankind. 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. ” Anna looked at her steadily. Both carried packages of books and magazines. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice.
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