” Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of her chair. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. What are you going to tell me?" "Nothing. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. “If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation.
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