She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment.
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