“You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?” Anna hesitated. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. But it was her proof. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher.
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