“In a sense—yes. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood.
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