CHAPTER XV. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. I should like to have had you forgive me. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. And I get myself dirty. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside.
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