Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. I don’t care. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. ” “I am not afraid,” she answered. I will not trust you. It never has had. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow. ” “Act two,” she continued. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. I’m sorry.
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