“I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side.
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