” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. The day is already half over. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. They would be partners only in loneliness. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness.
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