At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips.
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