‘And certainly I wish that Joan will come with us. Dutch; Pennsylvania Dutch. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. But did any woman get anything better from a man? Perhaps every woman conceals herself from a man perforce!. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose.
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