’ Disappointment flooded her. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. ’” Anna made no remark. It was open. I was certain of it. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs.
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