“Anna!” she repeated. Of you—an angel with one wing. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. “I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the petit pains. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. I like the way you shared it. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman.
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