She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. So she approached him with sandwiches. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. But there was a face pressed to the glass.
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