” “Very well,” Anna said. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether.
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