“No, I’m not a virgin. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket.
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