The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. She started forward. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. The Times slipped from his fingers. Now I do. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. “We must go.
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