“I do,” Anna answered. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us.
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