“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. That is why I called myself Anna. B. And empty. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop.
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