He opened the drawer of the writing table. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who carry stilettos in their hair. “Thank you, ma’am. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. He remained talking with her however. ” With a little shrug of the shoulders Anna followed him.
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