Probably a sick man's whim. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. I——” The door was thrown open. Their faces had bite marks that were hers. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Completely overcome by fatigue, with strained muscles, and bruised hands; streaming with perspiration, and with lips so parched that he would gladly have parted with a treasure if he had possessed it for a draught of water; he sank against the wall, and while in this state was seized with, a sudden and strange alarm. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. You don’t know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the— the other side of the line is Hell. She glared at him with satisfaction. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance.
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