“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. She has been a dear. Spurling. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob.
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