Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. “There is no doubt whatever about that. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly.
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