“It was a phase,” she said. . The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. Nothing, in short, was too extravagant to be related of it; and Jonathan, who delighted in investing himself and his residence with mystery, encouraged, and perhaps originated, these marvellous tales. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Apparently I’m not to exist yet.
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