”
Chapter XXXII
SIX MONTHS AFTER
Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came
Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her
cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. You would rather live like the scum
of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in
bourgeois paradise. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames
Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge;
and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to
Waterloo. “Really?”
“Would not let it go. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he
was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a
suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture
of Jacobitism. She tried to scream,
\"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come
from her mouth.
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