She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. "Tomorrow I shall have a visitor.
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