‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. Like appendicitis. It was better even than the hymn-singing. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table.
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