She had nothing to say for herself. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. I don't have a phone in my room. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. I understand. . I kicked the living shit out of him.
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