‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. After five or six years it would not be difficult to hide in Italy or in France. You can trust me, Anna. I can’t stand it. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. This is a mere boy. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
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