It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Her eyes were wide and bright. “I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last. On the way he confessed. That's a queer yarn. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. She turned off the light and approached the window.
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