They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. “I do,” Anna answered. She had looked forward to an explanation. She could not speak. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse.
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