Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. “Just look that through, will you. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby.
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