Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head.
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