The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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