They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. They rose as she approached. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. ” “I still——” Anna stopped short.
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