She gurgled. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. " "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. " "Infernally provoking!" echoed Langley. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone.
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