“You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Anna made things for her. ‘I live in Kent. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette.
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