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In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. . “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth.
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