She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it. Are you all here?” “Five boxes full,” she answered. "Poor Mrs.
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