I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. What do you say?” “I agree,” Anna said coldly, “if you will make it three months. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She even hit the jackpot in 1952 when she found a photograph in a London issue of Vogue.
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