“Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. She had maintained a B in each subject except History, which she occasionally felt compelled to strive for A’s in, considering she had lived through most of it. I can bear anything but suspense. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune.
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