He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. When I heard about Larry I was going 159 to call you, I was, but, well, there is no excuse, is there? I acted like I was afraid of you, afraid that I liked you, so I ignored you like a coward. The girl nodded sagely. ” Annabel yawned. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort. . ’ ‘It was so,’ said Valade, becoming a trifle more fluent. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. ’ She pronounced it with a French inflexion, but Gerald understood her to mean the English name he knew.
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