Made me fetch up Trodger and a couple more men, and together we searched his luggage and got hold of every single paper the man possessed. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. I want to do without that for a time. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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