She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers.
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