I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Very romantic and all that. He remained talking with her however. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me.
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