That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. She elected to go to prison. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this.
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