” “What did your aunt say?” “She didn’t even kiss me. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life.
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