A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Just so had his subordinates shown their apprehension. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. “What a little brick!” he murmured. ” Ennison obeyed Anna’s gesture, and was silent. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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