Last night there had been no time. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. You say you need a man. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. Wood. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?” “You have been wrapped up in your politics,” she murmured. Here you only waste your time. Something in his tone pinched her heart. He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me.
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