“I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. Never. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly.
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