Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. “What do you think of them?” Anna extended her critical survey and shrugged her shoulders. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ” Lucy said. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please.
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