He was suddenly calm. “They are full of the usual foolish stories. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. There it was—to be borrowed. 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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