The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. "Get up, then," said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup. "I was only just in time. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch.
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