He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald.
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