“Boys!” said Capes. “Michelle, don’t do this. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. She acted as her mother had taught her to. He crawled underneath the covers with her.
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