It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. . “Hotel Ritz!” Chapter XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY “I suppose you haven’t the least idea who I am,” Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna’s most comfortable chair. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. ’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers.
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