“You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. ‘And if he is dead I know not. She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again.
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