The prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Quick, now. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility.
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