A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. For a few minutes all was silent. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead.
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