In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. β βAnd I may bring my luggage in and send that cabman away?β Anna asked. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. β She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. She drove me.
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