She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. ” Anna sprang up. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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