“He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. ” Anna lifted her hand and pushed open the trap door. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses.
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