Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. Until the last moment she was afraid.
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