"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. “You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. ” Her words were slurred with sleep. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air.
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