Anna left the room on tiptoe. Unless we can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this all over again when he gets on his feet. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined. She leaned back in her chair. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob.
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